The Voice, It Beckons
by Verassi
Summary: When Izuku hears the voice, he stills. It was a soft whisper on the wind, a call, a summons; it beckons him to follow. For just a moment, he is not himself; he is not in control. He knows not what the voice is, nor what it wants, but when he hears it, he knows. The voice is not a friend, nor are its intentions good. Still, the voice beckons him, and one day, he may just follow.


AN: I don't really know what to tell ya about this. It's just a thought I had and I went with it? It's kinda a more ambient feeling fic, I listened to horror ambient music whilst writing it so~ Yeah.. also, this is unbeta'd so be wary of some grammar mistakes and the sorts (my writings kinda a mess without my lovely beta to pick out the mistakes) So, yeah, enjoy. Don't forget to leave a review, I love hearing from all of ya'll.

* * *

Izuku is ten when he first hears the voice.

He was walking home from school, his feet dragging against the sidewalk. His shoulders slumped as if burdened by the weight of the sky itself. His head downcast, taking in the concrete that lay before him.

It was soft, barely a whisper.

He stops.

He's not positive he had heard anything, it was so quiet. No one called out again. He shakes his head and continued home.

The voice, angelic in tone, calls to him by name.

Startled, he looks up, searching for the source of the voice that called out to him. He was alone; cars whizzed past him on the streets, birds chirped in the distance, but no one walked the streets. He was utterly alone at that moment.

Still, the voice calls out to him, pleads with him to follow. It was wispy, light toned and airy, but something about it screamed devious. He didn't want to listen to it; his feet moved on their own. Colors seemed to fade, the noises blurred until it was all static in his ears.

He wasn't aware of where he was going, but the voice was louder, more urgent. Buzzing filled his head, a slow murmur that offset his senses. His vision was clear, yet he had trouble seeing where he was going—everything blurred out of focus, becoming a murky gray blob before his green orbs.

His feet walked with a mind of their own, following the voice against his better judgement. Izuku tried to form a coherent thought, tried to come up with a reason as to why he was listening to the voice, but everything became a swarm of buzzing and muddled gray that hummed in his head, swam across his vision.

His feet were moving, he was vaguely aware that he was no longer in the same neighborhood.

Time became moot, obsolete even, when the voice rang in his head. Seconds, or even hours may have passed, but he noticed none of it—it didn't matter. Time held no persuasion over him as he walked in a trance.

His feet stopped, the ringing ceased, colors seeped to life, saturating his vision with remarkable clarity. He was standing at a precipice, staring out into the vast ocean of aquamarine mixed with a wave white.

The wind tousled his hair, pulling at it with a fierce playfulness. The salt in the air was crisp and fresh, reminding him of what lay below. He could hear the crashing of the waves against the rocks, beating them into submission with ferocious energy, mulling about in the turbulent sea.

He could hear the cry, the call, beckoning from beyond the sea below. Its morose tone was warped now, begging him to follow it.

He leaned, unconsciously, over the edge. A wave crashed against the cliffside, a thunderous roar of white noise that deafened all other sounds. He stopped, his consciousness returning. Slowly, as if he had forgotten how to, he blinked, letting his emerald eyes take in the view for a moment before reality set in.

The ocean below racked angrily against the jagged rocks, its blue tint so deep, so sorrowful, yet unforgiving, malicious even. White cascaded over blue, entangling it in an eternal whirlpool.

He took a deep, shaky breath. His eyes were wide with fear, hesitation gnawing at him as he took a step back.

The voice called once more, a plea, a yell, a shriek washed out by the waves rolling in.

Izuku ignored its tempting tune, unwilling to follow it into the abyss.

It's strange, Izuku thought as he made his way home in a robotic manner. The voice had been so soft, so sweet, yet it had also been harrowing. It filled his head with sweet nothings, caressing his brain, lulling him into a methodical hypnosis. He had been unaware of everything, even time, as he had come to the cliff side. He felt abnormally numb to it as well, it was odd how he had no feelings towards what had transpired only a few hours ago.

The voice had called out to him, yet the ocean itself had snapped him back into reality, not wanting him to follow its otherworldly tone.

It was late by the time he arrived home, much later than he should have been home by. His mom had fussed over him, asking where he had been, worried out of her mind.

He didn't have an answer for her.

The whole ordeal had left him feeling empty, numb to everything. He felt tired, drained of energy, sapped of strength. His mom asked if he wanted something to eat, he nodded mechanically—his mind told him that he needn't eat, but his body said otherwise.

He ate; the food tasted dull, monotonous, a colorless pallet of sustenance. It's unappetizing, but he forces himself to finish the meal.

When he went to bed not soon after finishing his dinner, he dreamt of washed out colors, lacklust sounds. There was no vivacity to his imagination as he slept, his mind unable to process the events in a coherent fashion.

He forgot about the events of the past day when he woke up; it had become nothing more than an odd lapse in memory, nothing spectacular or even noteworthy. By the end of the day, even his recollection of the dream had all but faded from memory; he's left with nothing but a vague sense of sea breeze running through his hair, the ocean, turbulent as ever, making minute maelstroms against rough rocks.

By the next day, it was gone completely.

* * *

He's thirteen when he hears the voice call out to him again. It's a clear, azure sky with no clouds visible. The wind has stayed tame, not willing to break free in an onslaught of a piercing gale.

Izuku walked to school absentmindedly. His thoughts are elsewhere as the entrance to the school came into view.

There's a gust of wind, gentle, warmth spreading through it, that runs past him.

He hears he whisper.

He stops, frozen in place, his body going numb.

Its voice was soft, a feather in the wind, but it sent chills up his spine. Its tone is light, a bit hopeful, pleading with him to come find it.

He wants to ignore it, to continue walking towards his destination, but his sense of control yields to the voice.

His feet move on their own, following the voice. He was aware of it, how the colors faded away until gray was the only thing he could see. His senses went numb in a painstakingly slow manner.

He watched in muted fear as the world slowed down, as his vision became blurry and time faded all together. He felt the rush of air at his side, pulling him away from the voice, but it wasn't strong enough to contend with the voice's pull on him.

He recalls this feeling, its ancient, yet familiar. He knows it, but he couldn't be sure from where, exactly, the familiar feeling arose. Dwelling on it only caused his head to ache, so he stores it away for another day, another time, when everything isn't a blur, an amalgamation of opaque clarity and senseless instinct.

He's in a forest when his his senses return to him. Time picks up where it had left off, colors flood his vision engrossing everything in a vivid green canopy, accented by the gnarly bark of the trees. He hears squirrels rustling through the dead leaves of the forest floor, birds chirp up in the treetops. He could smell moss, the fresh air with its whimsical earthen scent.

It was all a very tranquil sight, yet he felt…unsettled.

The voice called out to him, echoing from beyond the treeline. His foot took a step forward, unbidden.

The voice called again, its tone was hollow, unearthly in nature.

He barely noticed the way his school uniform snagged on the branches as he walked in a stupor towards the darker parts of the wood.

An eerie shadow clung to the trees, watching his every move, goading him to follow the voice. He was uneasy, but still, he persisted. His mind went foggy, his movements mechanical as he travelled further into the dark forest before him.

A bush, off to his left, rustled. He snapped his attention over to it, his consciousness streaming into control. A deer, tawny brown fur rustled and white tail erect, came trodding out of the brush. It stopped, it's hooves digging impatiently into the soft ground before it turned to look Izuku in the eyes.

Izuku stared back. It was like looking into a void, two crystalline eyes, black melting into a bluish tint, stared at him with such intenseness, such wisdom that Izuku's breath stilled for just a moment. Before him laid two pools of glittering knowledge, two endless reflections of life.

The moment dissipated all too soon. The voice called out, a heart wrenching cry of sorrow, desolation etched deeply into its core; the deer turned to the voice, then baak at Izuku. Where the deer's eyes had been wonder, were now despair, it took off in a graceful leap, away from the voice, away from where Izuku's body had led him.

Izuku understood, in that moment, that the voice was to be feared, to be ignored.

It beckoned him again, but he forced his consciousness to stay with him, to stay in control.

He turned heel, not wanting to be in this forest any longer. The forest that had once been so serene, so peaceful, wa now haunted, an ominous visage of looming shadows and dark crevices. He walked faster, making a conscious effort to ignore the voice that pleaded with him to stay, to listen to its cry.

He knew no where he was going, but still he moved. His mind was in overdrive while his body was on autopilot. Somehow, he found his way out of the forest and back to civilization.

It was dark by the time he returned home. His mother asked where he had gone, to which he had no reply. Instead, he told he got lost, offering no explanation as to where he had gone, or how he had gotten lost on the way to school. Perhaps it was the look in his eye that made her drop the discussion. All she asked was if he was okay, to which he was able to nod.

She asked if he was hungry; he nodded enthusiastically, he hadn't eaten all day and his stomach lashed out at that fact by accosting him with sharp pangs.

He ate with vigor, taking in every last bite as if it would be his last. An image, trivial in nature, invaded his mind for the briefest second. A deer, with glistening eyes like the night sky, holding unparalleled wisdom, staring blankly ahead as its light fades from the world.

Suddenly, his hunger dissipates and he's left feeling a cold, dense weight settle in his chest. A dark void encroached upon him, a void that shouldn't have been there.

He knows immediately who is to blame for the void: the voice, haunting in its visage, yet so endearing in its tone.

That night his dreams consist of blackness, of fog over a green glade, of two eyes, a black melted into blue, that had held so much life. A light that should never have dwindled, bled out on the forest floor, staining impeccable green with a crimson red.

When he awoke, a lingering feeling of loss followed him. An emptiness that couldn't be put a finger on. It waned throughout the day, but the loss still clung to him as though it were a second skin. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't rid his mind of the image of a deer, standing proud, antlers poised in a regal fashion and eyes like pools of ink, shining a irradiant hue of cobalt in the light.

The image stayed ingrained in his head, but the meaning was lost on him.

Eventually, even the image began to fade, the only hint at it were the whisperings of a life lost too soon that ghosted at his subconscious every now and then.

* * *

It's not until two years later that the voice returns.

Storm clouds had gathered overhead, conspiring with the heavens to cast down a torrential downpour. Lightning shattered the sky, cracking it, staining it, accentuating the darkness with a halo of fractured white. Thunder served to punctuate the emptiness, echoing throughout the night, reverberating through the ground.

Rain fell, slashing at buildings, accosting the earth with a thunderous vigor. The noise became a washed out white static, a droning sound, a murmuring lullaby. The wind screamed, a harrowing shriek, dragging tree branches with it as it ran through the air. There was a crash of thunder, a spark of lightning that spooked even the shadows into submission.

The storm raged on, engulfing everything in its path and drowning out all that dared defy it.

It was two A.M. when Izuku woke to a soft whisper.

He sat upright, the hairs on his neck stood out, unsettled by the ominous mien of the room. A bolt of lightning streaked across the overcast night, the light it sent illuminating the darkness of his room.

Shadows hid from him. The light was gone. Blackness encroached upon him.

He looked around, taking in every detail he could in the looming dusk. His skin crawled as if maggots were writhing just beneath the surface and a cool sheen of sweat coated his flesh as he took in the sight of his room. Nothing had changed, everything was in place, but _something_ was off.

A crack of thunder—a cry, a plea, a desperate lament choked out—shook the foundation of the dorms, shaking him to the core.

 _Then…_

 _A_ whisper…a beckoning voice that he couldn't place—so familiar, yet so distant—invaded his head. It was quiet, almost undetectable, but he heard as if it had been a yell.

It called out to him and felt compelled to go to it, to find it, to help it.

A slight buzz filled his head and colors drained away. He wasn't aware of his feet hitting the ground, nor did he notice when he had started walking towards the door.

Thunder roared relentlessly, a caged beast that has unleashed its woe unto to the world.

His heart and his feet froze, a startling realization washing over him. His eyes land on the doorknob, finding his hand to be rested there, poised to open the door.

He sucks in a breath, fear creeping up behind him. His body is rigid, tense, as if ready to flee at a moment's notice. Shakily, he takes a deep breath—he's not even sure what has him so spooked to begin with—trying to calm his rattled nerves; slowly, he takes his hand off the doorknob, an action that takes more effort than it warranted.

He turns. Lightning flashes. For the briefest second, he sees something in the corner of his vision; a cheshire smile, wicked and gleaming, stared at him from beyond the rain soaked window. Then, the light was gone, leaving only a phantom visage of the that cruel smile behind.

Izuku can cool his blood freeze, his heart stop—it's in slow motion, he can _feel_ it. It runs rivulets down his spine, chills that seep into his being, coating his bones with frost.

On unsteady legs, he makes his way back to his bed. He curls in on himself, bringing the blanket up to his chin. Warmth flows through him; it's a calming reassurance.

He forcibly closes his eyes, but the afterimage of that cheshire smile permeates the darkness. He snaps his eyes open.

He hears a whisper.

It's intangible, wispy, unreal, but it calls out to him. There are no words spoken; the voice doesn't need words to express its request. He doesn't know what it wants, or even if it's real, but it beckons him, pulls at him to follow its voice.

He stays where he is, suspended between fear and curiosity.

The wind howls a mournful melody as it tears through the trees, clawing at the streets. He can hear the whisper on the wind, clinging to its tail, hitching a ride; if only to reach him. All senses fade away until the soft beckoning of that voice is all that is left.

His body moves robotically, without his consent. He's moving towards the window this time. Lightning flashes causing his shadow to jump, trying to pull him away in its brief existence, before the light is gone, causing his shadow to disappear all together.

Thunder rumbles, breaking him from a trance he hadn't known he was in. He blinks rapidly, staring at the window, watching as the rain relentlessly slams into it. His green orbs watch in wonder as the rain pounds against his window. Soon, its methodical white noise lulls him to sleep. The voice lingered before receding into the wind, waiting for another day to call upon him.

The heavens continue their onslaught, at war with the earth.

Izuku's dreams are filled with that cheshire smile, looking down on him with an sinister ethereal luminosity, a haunting aura that is neither earthly nor celestial, it's foreboding, eternal, and there's a finality to it that Izuku can't escape from.

The rest of the week goes by in a blur of muted tones, uneasy hesitance, and forlorn perceptions. By the end of the week though, he's all but forgotten the baleful feeling that had taken to him like a shadow.

* * *

Izuku is walking with his friends, its a picture perfect Sunday afternoon. All of them had decided that they wanted to hang out. Todoroki is on his left, as well as Uraraka while Iida is on his right. They're having a lively debate over hero quirks, something Izuku has a lot of input for.

They walk to an abandoned beach. No one else is there, something Izuku finds odd. It is a beautiful day, but he doesn't question it.

The sand is bleached, a pale white that looks deathly. The waves are rolling in with fervor; a deep blue, with seafoam green intermingling as the waves break. He can smell the salt in the air, a crisp breeze rustles through his hair.

It's all very peaceful.

He's rambling when he hears it.

A whisper, fainter than before, but still ringing loudly in his ears, beckons him. He stops mid-sentence. He looks around, first at his friends, who have confused expressions gracing their faces, then to the ocean. He stops. He really _looks_ at the ocean, feeling the ambience it casts, sensing the tremors that come from far beneath its surface.

The tide is strong, pushing with fervor, pulling with an incomprehensible force. It pushes; he can feel its aura saturating the beach. It washes over the beach, blending in with the poignant stench of the sea.

He takes a step forward, ignoring his friends questions—he can barely hear them over the roar of the waves. It seems the ocean is aware of him as well. It pulls away as he approaches.

The water is turbulent, a raging hurricane of aquamarine.

He can feel it, as clear as he hears the voice beckoning him, the fear radiating from the ocean. It's at this moment that Izuku realizes that _the voice_ , the call, the beckoning, he hears is something to fear.

The whisper becomes a growl.

It's familiar, a cryptid force that has dwelled within this land for far longer than any human. He knows not what it is, but he knows he must stay away, must fight the spell it enchants unto his being with all his will.

He's heard this voice, this beckoning before. He knows he has, it's all too familiar for it to be the first time, but he cannot recall when he last heard it, or why it is so familiar. It's a lost echo in the wind, a reminiscence of a past he doesn't know; it bothers him, yet some part of him is relieved he can't recollect it. It feels as though a burden is removed from his person because of his inability to navigate his past memories and remember what this voice, so soothing in appearance, yet sinister in nature, is.

It taunts him, demands he follow it.

He steps forward, the ocean pulling away as he does.

The sea rages, casting aside its vengeful nature to show its distress its ire at the voice. The voice beckons Izuku while the primordial sea conveys its distrust, telling Izuku to flee, to disregard the voice's call.

Izuku stared, wide eyed, as the ocean denounced the voice, batting at the wind in which its carried with a spray of salted water; waves soared high, reaching out to claw, to tear at the wind, shred it to pieces so thin the voice will cease to follow its path.

Someone shook his shoulder, garnering his attention. He stood in a stupor, blinking owlishly as Todoroki asked if he was okay. Numbly he nodded, still transfixed by the oceans onslaught against the supernatural voice.

He lets his friends guide him away from the shore, unable to retreat from it himself. The voice still lingers in his ear, alongside the white noise of the oceans cry. He doesn't understand it, when he looks into the eyes of his friends and sees only confusion.

Did they not hear it? Could they not understand the voice that beckoned him? Why couldn't they _feel_ it, feel the voice calling out to him as if it were a siren? Feel the sadness etched in the oceans wail?

He almost feels bad for them, but he knows its best that they don't hear its voice, calling to them as it does him. He knows nothing of the voice other than its call, its cry. He wishes for it to stay that way.

For the rest of the day the did his best to forget the voice, to forgo the ominous ring that had trailed behind him.

When they returned to the dorms, Izuku immediately went to his room. He abstained from having dinner that night, his thoughts were in turmoil over the voice that still lingered, echoed throughout his brain. It was hauntingly familiar, yet so distant. It was unparalleled, it left him on edge—he knew he had heard that voice before, but he could not recall when or how it had wormed its way into his head before.

When he finally let sleep overtake him, he dreamt of the ocean and sky, warring with each other while a voice remained still, in between the two opposing forces. Neither side won, they were at a stalemate. However, the voice tarried for a while longer, never ceasing in its mournful tune.

He awoke to light that shined brightly on his face. It bathed him in a feather-like warmth. He had already pushed aside his dream. It was nothing more than a distant memory by that afternoon.

* * *

The voice left him alone for another ten years before it made another appearance.

He was twenty five when he saw his first friend die. It had been a grave situation to begin with, twenty hostages and a collapsed building. They had done all they could, in the end, the only casualty had been his friend.

The funeral had been held a week later, closed casket. He had attended, wearing all black, with an apology already on his lips before he even made it to his dear friend. He knew he needed to move on, but guilt had decided to stick around a while longer, preventing him from moving forward.

In the depths of his despair, he heard a voice. The voice. He knew it immediately; he had heard it before, had ignored its beckoning for the longest time. He had decided that now might be a good time to find out what it wanted.

It murmured, a sweet oblivion rang in its tone and he had been inclined to follow it. He let it take control, let it escort him to wherever it was. He cared not when his surrounding blurred in an expanse of gray nor did he care when all sounds melded together until a white washed static was all that remained.

In muted colors he spotted the ocean, a torrential of waves waging war with each other. An onslaught of deadened blue and splotched white battling it out with a vigor the likes of which he had never seen. It called out to him, its maelstrom of water warning him to leave the voice. He didn't heed the ocean's warning, opting to let the voice escort him to wherever it may lead.

He passed a forest, the trees were dark and looming. They enveloped him in their canopy, a harrowing display of the day being drowned out by the shadows. They also held a warning to him. They told of the deceptive nature of the voice, its ominous ring struck a chord with Izuku, but still, he ignored any warning and persisted. The trees shook their head in disappointment, and maybe in mourning as well.

The sky id the last to try and deter him. A storm rode in from he horizon, bringing forth baleful gusts of wind and searing shocks of thunder, highlighted only by the flash of lightning that electrified the sky.

The voice bellowed to him, stating that they were so close, to what, though, he knew not. The voice pulled at him; the wind pushed him back. It was a tug of war, one that the sky eventually omitted from.

The sky knew when to take its losses; the voice did not.

It called to him, beckoning him forward into the unknown.

He followed fiercely.

He stopped.

His rational thought came back. He no longer saw the gloomy outlook that the voice had offered. For just an instance, colors returned in an intense vivacity, before the voice lulled them back into a dull hue.

It beckoned him; he hesitated. The voice sounded on the edge of pleading, calling out to him. Izuku was about to follow, his feet already moving, when he stopped. A single thought over took him. A jumble of emotions and feelings he couldn't discern bombarded him. A despair that he hadn't realized had clung to him washed away.

The voice rang in his head; he shook his head to rid himself of the lamenting cry.

He turned heel and walked away, the voice fading into the background.

He didn't know what the voice was, nor did he know what it had wanted, why it had called out to him, but, in that moment, he didn't care. He simply needed to ignore its existence, so familiar, so surreal. He couldn't give into its demands, he didn't know why he couldn't, but he knew he couldn't.

The voice lingered for only a moment longer before it dwindled away completely.

That night, his dreams were inconsistent. A haunting melody intermingling with memories of the past. An ocean, turbulent and relentless stirred. A forest loomed, menacing and tall. The sky sparked to life, vibrant and radiant. The voice called, a hushed murmur.

By the time he awoke, the voice was nothing but a far off memory, a distant lullaby he may have heard in the past. He thought nothing of it and tried to move on, bring about better days in the future.

* * *

It's a long while before Izuku hears the voice beckoning him once more, for the last time.

He's older now, retired from the hero business, but he still does what he he can to help his neighborhood. Izuku may have become older, but his heart remained the same.

His quirk was long gone, passed onto the next generation. He didn't mind though, he had done his job, left his mark on society alongside his many friends and co-workers. Many of them were dead now, either the woes of villainy had done them in or age had caught up to them.

He had mourned an abundance of deaths in his lifetime, attended far too many funerals. Still, he did not yearn for death; he wasn't as reckless as he had been in his youth, seeking out danger, fighting against the odds. He aimed for a quiet life, one where he could enjoy the beauty of nature.

He bought land in the countryside, far away from civilization. There, it was peaceful. Fields of greenery stretched out for miles—rolling hills of wild, untamed grass—until they met the sea. A line of trees guarded his quaint villa with tranquil ease. A gentle breeze snuck up on him, caressing his once vibrant hair, as if he were an old acquaintance

Izuku sat on his porch, absentmindedly rocking back and forth in his chair as he basked in the fresh calmness of the earth.

Ever so gently, a voice cooed at him. It was nothing more than a whisper, dancing on the tendrils of the wind.

He stopped, stood up from his chair, and gazed ahead, fixated on nothing particular. His green orbs went wide at the sound. It was so familiar, that voice, so soft, a serene whisper on the wind. He knew that voice, had heard it before, calling out to him, beckoning him to follow.

He had never willingly followed its tune, afraid of what he might find. The voice had always had a sinister note to it, something that told him to fear it, but now, the voice was like an old friend.

His body moved before his mind could comprehend, a familiar buzz took hold of him, though, this time, he didn't fight it. He let the voice take control, let it guide him to where it layed.

He walked, for what seemed like miles, or even days. Time was of no importance to him anymore. He knew this would be the last time he heard its soft caress, felt its morose tune run through him. Somehow, that knowledge didn't scare him.

He was ready to finally find out what it wanted, where it would lead if he followed. He still didn't know what the voice was, even after all those years, but he has a vague suspicion. However, Izuku realized that it never really mattered what the voice was, or what it had wanted; all that had mattered to the voice, and consequently himself, was what would happen if he followed it.

He knows not what awaits him as he walked through a void nothingness, following the voice with a quiet peacefulness. He was not afraid, nor did he hesitate when the voice brought him to a familiar precipice.

He's brought back to that day, when he was merely ten years old, so full of life and vibrancy. The ocean had saved him that day, had brought him out of his trance; today, the ocean did no such thing, it knew he would not listen.

He thought back to a deer, with eyes so full of wonder and mystery, how it had stopped him from traversing further into the wood that day and paid the price for it.

He was reminded of a night when the sky had fought against the voice in an angry blaze of thunder and lightning. Back then, the sky too, had stopped him from answering the call, had saved him from whatever awaited. Now, the sky was tranquil, a brilliant smear of azure splotched with wispy white clouds.

There was a day, on the beach, when the voice had called. He had almost followed it then as well, but the ocean had once again conspired against the voice, pulling away in fear. It had been a warning then. He had heeded it.

Finally, he was reminded of the time when the voice was at its strongest. A dear friend had been lost; he had been dragged into a pit of despair. The voice had beckoned, he had followed. The ocean could not sway him, the forest could not deter him, the sky could not convince him otherwise. He had been so close to answering when he had stopped. He had been the one to pull himself away from the voice, to ignore its sweet melody. Something far stronger than the voice's lull had tugged at him then; no such thing did that now.

The voice calls, it beckons him; Izuku finally answers it.

* * *

AN: Tada! There is a weird ass one shot for ya! Let me know what ya thought~ What does the voice represent to you?

I hope ya'll have a lovely day now~

Vera~~


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